Confessions of a Dope Melanin Queen
“Perfection is not welcomed here. I’d like to see your flaws.”
I have a confession to make. I didn't always embrace my Black side (or my Filipino side). Growing up, I hated being black. If your family is anything like mine, being black meant hour long conversations of, “this is what the white man did to our people,” every family reunion. Being black meant doing research papers in elementary school on people like Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglas, every Black History Month. Being black meant, having the terms, “ghetto” and “ugly” attached to me like white on rice. It meant adopting the, “Yes, I’m black. No, you can’t touch my hair,” theology. It meant hating the “You’re too cute (or too educated) to only be black” comments and rolling my eyes at the “Why do you people always act like that?” questions.
I hated being in my own skin, because being black wasn’t (and in some ways, still isn't) labeled as beautiful. I hated the coarseness of my hair, the peanut-like complexion of my skin. If I was being honest, being black wasn’t the only thing I was insecure about. I hated being skinny. I used to wish for a curvier body, bigger breasts and straighter hair. I used to go to sleep at night and pray that the next day, I would wake up to be a bra cup size bigger. I didn't care what had to happen, I just wanted to be beautiful. While everyone else in the world was fighting, paying thousands of dollars and killing themselves to get skinny, I was wishing to be, “plumper”. I wanted to be what the world wanted me to be instead of just being me.
Growing up, I never saw myself as beautiful or pretty. I was never told, "You have nice eyes," or "You have such a beautiful smile." I was never told anything. I was never the girl that boys would stand in line for. Never the one they'd break their neck, back or risk walking blindly into a lamp-pole for. I wasn't even the girl next door. I was just the girl that was there, the plain Jane (maybe).
I experienced different forms of bullying all up until high school. I was told by my own flesh and blood that no one would ever love me. Over and over, those words were hammered into my soul so much so, that my list of insecurities became longer than Mike Tyson's rap sheet. I used to read Cosmopolitan Magazine to constantly stay up to date on trends that I couldn't afford. I used to look at other girls and say to myself, "If only I had fill in the blank." But it all changed when I met a Man from a little town in Galilee. Even though, I gave my life to Christ when I was 11-years-old, it wasn’t until later when I really found God. It wasn’t until I was 17-years-old, that I was able to embrace all the dope-ness that I possess. I was 17, when I was able to look myself in the mirror and bask in the beauty that I thought I was missing. I wish I could give a step-by-step layout of all the things I did to gain the love I have for myself, but there is none. There was no book, no how-to description, and no cream. There were no Botox injections, no gym memberships, and no dietary plans. All there was, were a few simple words: “God, give me the eyes to see me the way that You see me.”
There once was a time where I prayed to a God that I didn’t believe in for overnight breasts and hips that didn’t lie. Instead, He gave me a crown of confidence to wear on my head. My hair may be coarse but it’s ever so versatile. My skin may be dark, but its beauty radiates in the sun. I may be, “Cute enough to be mixed, yet, too cute to be Black,” but I’m beautifully and wonderfully made regardless of what others may say. I may not be loved by many, but I’m loved the most by the only One whose love really matters. My teeth may be crooked, my face may break out and my eyebrows may be wild, but I’m still a Queen. A boss melanin Queen. I’ll say that again for the people in the back pretending not to hear me. A. Boss. Melanin. Queen *insert clapping emoji four times*. I may not be what everyone else thinks I should be, but I’m dope and nothing can change that. Don’t get me wrong, I have my moments where I wish my hair was always obedient. There are some days where I’m feelin’ myself a little bit more than others. Sometimes, I wish there was a guy that would look at me the same way I look at a taco, but not having doesn’t always mean I’m losing.
This piece is for the girl that is not comfortable in her own skin. For the girl that looks in the mirror every morning and can’t find herself on the other side. The girl in J. Cole’s “Crooked Smile.” The girl that compares herself to others, wishing for more when she may have less...
“You are absolutely beautiful my darling; there is no imperfection in you.”